Beneath a Moonless Sky
by Daisywcck
Summary: Weeks after she made her choice, Christine finds where the Phantom is hidden. "You have come back to me for what?" The snarled question was ripe with accusation. Inspired by both of ALW's musicals, but also inspired by Kay and Leroux. Not a LND story. E/C.
1. Found

**Beneath a Moonless Sky**

Dear Readers-

I tweaked this chapter a little bit, but there are no major changes. Please enjoy! Thank you for your feedback as I continue this story!

Best,

Daisy

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><p>She knew that she had found the proper location, his new hiding place, when she approached the small, seemingly abandoned cottage. The sound of his hands crashing against a piano, forming dissonant, violent chords was unmistakable. <em>He<em> was here.

He sensed the unwanted presence before he heard the sounds of horse hooves on the ground outside his house. With an odd sense of foreboding, he extinguished the candles in the room, darkening the room. The final, threatening chord of a new composition he had played on the piano still rang in his ears as he moved closer to his front door. He heard the unmistakable sounds of a rider dismounting the horse, and the tying of reins. Soon, his front door opened and was then quietly and carefully closed behind the guest. He swiftly crossed behind the intruder. He wrapped an arm around the unwelcome visitor and held the trespasser against him. He pressed his dagger to the pale skin beneath his victim's chin, roughly.

His low growl permeated the air. "Continue, and I will slit your throat."

The unwanted guest had no opportunity for defenses against his threat. As soon as the words had escaped his lips, he realized, that the small frame that he angrily held to his body fit against him in a way that was frighteningly familiar. The slight curvature of _her_ -for he now ascertained with certainty this was a woman- yes, _her_ body molded to him in the way he had painfully remembered. He had held Christine this way during their ill-fated performance in his opera, _Don Juan Triumphant_. On that painful night, many nights ago, the curls of her hair, loose and wild, brushed against his smooth cheek, just as they were doing now. His hand had held her upper arm as a means of seduction that night, to threaten what pleasure may follow, not to threaten violence as he did now. The shock of smelling her exquisite perfume again sedated him, and he felt suddenly weak.

The dagger dropped to the ground with a resounding clatter that nearly deafened him.

He released his grip on her and staggered backwards, away from her.

When he did bring his eyes up to analyze her and establish what cruel purpose had encouraged her to seek him out, he found that, although their eyes met for a undeterminable amount of time, he could not come to a conclusion. He held this position, five or six paces from her, unable to move, unable to speak, and unable to look away from her beauty that he had been trying so desperately to forget.

His eyes having adjusted to the darkness of the room, he studied the look of resolve he found on her face, unable to decipher her intentions. Surprisingly, she moved with purpose towards him, but he moved as well, away from her assuring himself that the piano that now stood between them would keep her safe. It would keep _him_ safe. He held onto the instrument, which had been his only solace in these lonely weeks, but now held it as securely as he would a weapon. He would _not_ fall victim to her cruelty again.

The weight of his mask felt heavy on his face. Rarely was the mask anything but a source of comfort to him, his shield from the outside world, but now the cold pressure he felt on his marred face was unwelcome. It was then that he remembered just how warm her kiss that they had shared in his former home beneath the Opera Populaire, as well as the stinging cold his lips felt when it was done. He would never been able to share in her warmth again, or bask in her light. She banished him deeper into darkness when she made her choice that night. The heaviness of his mask against his cheek weighed upon him further, warning him that his twisted flesh and soul would never be able to rightfully win the heart of the beautiful and pure Christine Daae. _His_ _Christine_. The thought itself brought about further taunting within himself, as she now belonged to another. Memories of her betrayal and unanswered questions flooded his mind once again.

_Had she yet married? Had her precious vicomte protected her from the night? Why had she come? Forgiveness?_

His eyes flashed with rage. He thrust his hands forward at the piano between them and into the pile of parchment paper that made up his latest composition. With a growl, he flung them violently in the air in her direction. Eyes burned with rage and bore into hers as the pages scattered in disarray on the ground between the two of them. Her surprised gasp did not soften him. Her continued fear of him- her teacher, her _angel_- angered him further.

"You have come back to me for _what_?" The snarled question was ripe with accusation. When she did not immediately speak, he lashed out further, his voice now revealing traces of his pain.

"What cruel- what do you want," he hissed her name, "_Christine_?"

He thought he saw her make the slightest of movements, as if to advance toward him rather than to run away, but he decided that he imagined it. Not wanting to witness her abandonment again- for she would surely turn from him again- _he_ turned his back on _her_.

He would have been lying to himself had he not hoped that she would cry out that she had missed his presence, despite how foolish he knew the thought to be. Her footsteps registered in his mind, and he awaited the creak of his front door opening, but the sound did not come. Instead, he could almost feel her hands on him, as if she were reaching up to grasp his shoulder, but was frightened to actually touch him. When she saw him tense, she moved in front of him. Her eyes were full of more of the saddened resolve he had witnessed earlier.

Her meek voice broke the growing silence and tension. "You can no longer look at me."

The pain caused by her earlier deceit was overwhelming, but anger frothed within him again when he witnessed her pitying stare. He never had any use for her pity, and he would not accept any of it now, especially not after she had betrayed him abandoned him for dead. He whirled around on her, unable to curtail his anger, and forcibly grabbed her shoulders. He dug his pale fingers in as he held her, uncaring of her pain. There was no gentle timbre to his voice as he berated her, only the varied volumes of his fury. Words were torn out of him by her continued presence.

"Just as YOU were unable to look at ME! No use in asking for my forgiveness to assuage your conscience, _dear_ _Christine_, your weakness has forced your choice. The masked demon LET YOU GO!"

He glared at her, resenting her watery eyes and her silence. After a few moments more of with neither of them speaking, he realized that he still held onto her. Upon this realization, he ripped his hands away as if she had burned him, and sank down onto the piano bench, finally succumbing to his grief. Christine made no movements to leave, but instead, emitted a small sob, leaned into him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

Grief and guilt overtook him, and he pressed his unmarred cheek against her stomach, nearly crying into the fine fabric of her dress. He felt her hand caress the top of his head, and her other hand give his shoulder a gentle squeeze. His voice was quiet when he finally spoke, a sharp contrast to the exchange moments before. "It is not your soul that was weak and in need of forgiveness. It is mine." He released his hold on her. He looked up at her from the bench briefly before he turned away again, trying to compose himself, and stared blankly at the ivory keys of his piano. "I cannot possess your heart if you do not wish it, although you will always possess mine."

He slumped forward against the piano, his only comfort now. He rested his forehead against the crook of his arm and covered his masked face in defeat.

"I released you. You have my forgiveness. Leave me."

And her presence was upon him yet again. As she sat down beside him, he felt her hand slide across the back of his shirt and then grip his side. He raised his head to look at her and while he was doing so, his mind registered that her eyes were inspecting him quite intensely, and that she had seated herself _directly_ beside him. It was not a moment later that her other hand was reaching behind his neck and pulling him towards her. For what purpose he did not realize- until he felt the warmth of her lips again.


	2. Erik

Dear Readers-

Thank you for your patience while I work to complete this plot bunny-turned-story. It nags at me like an unwritten composition of Erik's. Alas, wedding planning and real life has gotten in the way of delivering new chapters to you patient readers. Here is a short blurb. Fear not, for the next chapter is much longer. I have not forgotten you! I hope you have not forgotten me!

Best,

Daisy

_His _Christine, his entire reason for living, had come back to him? No, she had made her choice those many weeks ago, and the sting of the memory of her leaving with _that boy_ was still with him. That, and the feel of her soft lips pressed against his was too much.

He pulled away from her initiated kiss with a dejected moan, hands pressing her shoulders, distancing himself from her as much as he could, but not having enough energy to get up off the piano bench.

His eyes were drawn to hers in that moment, and he couldn't understand what her watery-eyed gaze at him meant. He yearned for clarity in that moment, almost as much as he yearned to kiss her again, and to remain in her glorious presence forever.

It seemed that they both held their breath as they stared at each other, both desperately trying to read the other, to answer unanswered questions, and seek out some remedy for the growing tension in front of the piano.

His shaking hands were still on her shoulders, and she stilled their trembling by covering them with her own. They both released the breaths that they had been holding when their fingers entwined.

The two were drawn closer together.

Their lips were an half-inch apart when her name was ripped from his lips, like a plea.

"_Christine_…"

Her tortured whisper matched his.

"Erik…"

He stiffened at the sound of his given name. He disengaged their hands, and shoved himself off the piano bench.

At that moment, Christine knew she had made a grave error by uttering his name.

He no longer suffered the posture of a defeated and grieving ghost of a man that had hunched over his piano a minute earlier, but maintained the threatening posture of man not to be trifled with, a viper poised to strike.

_How could she have known? What _else_ had she learned about the ghost that haunted the Opera Populaire? Why would she seek to unearth such things? How dare she disenterr my former identity? For what cruel purpose did she return to me? Why had she learned these things? Erik, the name I left behind, and the life I masked in white porcelein._

The tender atmosphere was poisoned by his name, the two syllables that so few had spoken in his presence.

His eyes sparkled with a quiet danger dancing behind them.

"My dear," the soft timbre of his voice filled the room, "you must explain yourself."


	3. Confrontation

**Beneath a Moonless Sky**

Lovely Readers,

Thank you for bearing with me and my lack of updates since March. Wedding planning sure is crazy! Fiancé and I have 20 days to go, and now is the perfect time for me to distract myself with some delicious E/C. I have not forgotten this story. I hope you haven't forgotten about me!

Knowing that other people care about this story fuels my fire, and this story certainly will have a lot of it! *fans self*

Best,

Daisy

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><p><strong>End of Chapter 2:<strong>

The tender atmosphere was poisoned by his name, the two syllables that so few had spoken in his presence.

His eyes sparkled with a quiet danger dancing behind them.

"My dear," the soft timbre of his voice filled the room, "you must explain yourself."

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><p><strong>Confrontation<strong>

Christine swallowed the fear rising up in her throat. Suddenly, she felt herself transported back to the time of the rehearsal period for _Don Juan Triumphant. _Whenever she erred during one of her mandated lessons with her Maestro, she would be forced to explain the logic and reasoning behind the piece's composition- why the melody of whatever aria he was teaching her would rise and fall in a counterintuitive manner, or why the text of a song should not be interpreted in the literal sense. He would demand that she explain herself for every error, demand that she understand said error, and demand that she set it right, not just because each note and each phrase was a part of his life's work, but because she would have to pay for her sin of loving another man.

"What concern have you for my given name? Surely 'Demon', 'Phantom', and," he added the final word, mockingly, '_Angel' _are enough? 'Erik' is none of your concern._" _

Whatever broken man had been showcased before her in the moments before and after their kiss had been vanquished, and was replaced by the cold, masked Phantom standing beside her. His ability to distance himself from their shared plight and replace his devotion with such coolness angered her. She had no need to summon courage to confront him and his mockery of her naiveté, as anger bubbled up within her petite frame.

She remembered every detail of that night, vividly. How decidedly _narrow_ of him to only remember her abandonment of him. He did not seem to recall how hesitant she was to leave, to climb the stairs leading out of his lair, or her whispered vows of love to him before Raoul escorted her away.

"None of my concern?" She scrambled off of the piano bench. Although she would never match his height, she held her chin up. "I left my soul with you that night!"

"Your _soul_? You left behind pity and your broken promises. You wretched feline! You would continue to play with this dead mouse as if I were some prize you could drop on your handsome vicomte's doorstep! I shall not play this game, my dear. I warn you, I am not a man to be trifled with! Or do you not remember?"

Christine's cheeks, flushed with anger from their confrontation, paled somewhat.

"How could I _forget_? I remember your eyes burning into my soul as I left you in the cellar," she clutched at her heart through the fabric of her dress as she spoke through gritted teeth, "Just as I remember the look in the eyes of a man dead at your hand. Buquet-" She broke off, unable to finish.

He stiffened and turned away from her, his cool demeanor returning. His voice was flat and dismissive.

"Such nightmares are not befitting a _vicomtess_."

Silent tears were rapidly trailing down her cheeks, as she watched him for several long moments. His back looked like an impenetrable wall. He would not forgive nor be forgiven, he would not comfort nor be comforted, and whatever warmth that was shared between the two of them was cooled at the mere mention of the vicomte.

She realized at that moment that any continuation of her time with him would yield no better result than him spurning her.

Her dress swishing across the floor as she made her way back to the door, coupled with her attempts at stifling her crying were the only sounds heard in the cottage until the creaking door permeated the silence. A small beam of light from outside flooded into the room and outlined her shrunken and defeated stature. Her small hand paused on the knob of the door as she made to depart his presence forever. Not wanting to risk meeting his cold eyes and expressionless mask once more, she murmured, "I shall never be a vicomtess."

She stood there, trying to extend that moment after her admission, hoping that he would soften, that he would stop her from leaving. Several moments passed without a reply from him. The silence was bitter, and _was_ his response.

She could not stifle a cry then, and the tears resumed their cruel trek down her face. As she moved to flee from the cottage, she found her way blocked by a small piece of white linen.

A handkerchief.

Her shaking hand took the proffered fabric and held it to her heart. A broken sigh escaped her lips, and her body shrank with relief.

His voice was laced with sadness, and matched the volume of her whisper.

"I cannot bear to see you cry."

When she slowly turned to face him again, glistening tears were trapped in his own amber eyes. He brushed his hand gently against hers, and pulled the handkerchief from her hand. He gave her the faintest of smiles as he reached up with a handkerchief-covered finger and wiped the tears from her face. He let one hand lightly hold her cheek as he completed his task.

Her eyes fluttered closed as she relished the touch of his bare hand against her face for the first time.

He had never touched her porcelain cheek before this night. He dared to keep his eyes open, cataloging every moment of her closeness.

She instinctively leaned closer to him, her face inches from his face, and when he held still, she opened her eyes.

His eyes were widening at his realization that she wanted to kiss him again. His whisper was softer, still, and his voice unsure.

"You are free of me."

There was no teasing quality to her tone, only truth.

"I could never be free of you. I no longer wish to be."

Instinct took over, and a fiery passion, not felt since those moments onstage with her, swelled within him. With a hard sigh, he pressed forward and captured her lips. Despite her verbal declaration, he was surprised by her ardor, and the way her mouth opened to his. His tongue danced against hers, and their lips battled each other. A whimper from her encouraged him further. His hand traveled from her cheek to the back of her neck, holding her face against his. The other hand found her waist, ensuring that she remain flush against him. He vaguely felt her gripping his arms as they kissed each other, holding onto him.

The two broke apart, almost reluctantly, breathless.

"You would choose a ghost? The Phantom?"

"I am a ghost as well. I died alongside you when I abandoned you in the cellar. I have died inside every day I have been without you." Christine's voice revealed both passion and resignation.

She reached up to hold his unmarred cheek. "Erik," she pressed her lips to his again in a short kiss. "I have," Another kiss. "found you again." She kissed him thoroughly, and when his hands found their way to the back of her neck, and were tangled in her hair, she broke away.

He studied her then; her hair looked a bit wild, her eyes were shining, lips were reddened at his doing, and her chest rose with uneven breath. She had never looked more beautiful. He could find few words to describe the sight.

"My Christine…" His husky voice made her shiver.

"Yes," She held his masked face firmly in her hands so that he could not avoid her declaration. "I am _yours_."

A creature known as Pride purred within his chest. He dreamed once of possessing her voice, and at a later time, he dreamed of possessing her as well. Now, after many lonely weeks without her angelic presence, she returned to him willingly. He thought he would be sated by this knowledge, that she needed his presence, but felt hungered further.

He let his hands trail down from the back of her neck, over her shoulders, and down her back to her waist. With a firm tug, he pulled her back to him, and his lips found hers again. The kiss was rough and full of need. She whimpered at the force, having never known passion such as this, but she relented moments later. His lips formed a smirk as he felt her arms reach around his neck and rest there as he kissed her. Just as his body began to respond to her affections, he felt dampness against his bare cheek and pulled away.

Her face was covered in fresh tears.

Her eyes fluttered open in confusion when he so abruptly ended their kiss. Her confusion transformed into alarm at the hardening express in his eyes, and when he stepped back from her. Before she could speak, he did.

"The man that is cause for your sadness is holding you now. You should go before I cause you further distress."

She reached out and gripped his arm. "I cry for _joy_ at your touch, and for fear that it soon shall be taken from me!"

"Oh, Christine." They melted into an embrace again. She pressed into him, desiring his closeness. Such contact with him had been denied for years, because of their relationship of pupil and student, her previous engagement to Raoul, and propriety.

Propriety was replaced with need, and she emitted a gasp as she felt _him_ against her.

Sudden warmth traveled up her arms, across her chest, and down to her middle. It seized her like an illness or sudden fever would have, but yielded a burning desire instead of an exhaustion. His lips were no longer on hers, as she had turned her face away from his to hide her crimson cheeks. She felt his hands lightly tangling in her hair, and the light pressure of his lips on her neck, as he gently explored her exposed pale flesh with his mouth, and she could not silence herself.

She moaned.

He could not stop himself, he kissed her neck with fervor, as he had her lips, adoring her for allowing him to give her such attention. When he did, her hands clutched wildly at his lower back, pulling him closer, if possible. Her back pressed against the door, and pitched the two of them back into darkness as the door slammed shut. She held his hips against hers, pressing herself against his strong form, and there was now no question in his state of arousal. Or hers.

Tumultuous feelings coursed through his veins. The battle between his passion and grief, and the conflict between wanting to banish her for her betrayal, and wanting to banish her clothing.

The darkness that now surrounded them brought him back to reality. _His_ reality. He could never have her in the light. She was no longer a prisoner to his darkness, and she deserved to be in the light. Trembling, he stepped away from her.

With a shaky breath, he begged for her forgiveness. At her sigh, he moved back to the piano, both distancing himself from her as well as searching for the candle that was lit prior to her arrival. Once lit, he turned back to her. Even in the dimly-lit room, he could see her flushed cheeks. She remained by the door, unsure of her thoughts. Such passion, desire, and need were foreign to her, and somewhat frightening. She watched him light additional candles, banishing the rest of the darkness.

When he turned to light another, she stepped forward and awkwardly began to collect the scattered pieces of music from the floor.

He raised an eyebrow at her, when he turned around and saw her holding the scattered pieces of music, sheets out of order and sticking out in various directions. She gave him a small smile.

"Have you composed lyrics to this piece yet?"

He shook his head, and took the pages from her. He began sorting through them on the piano bench. He sat astride it, one leg on each side, and his one visible brow was furrowed.

She sat herself on the other side of the bench, smoothed out her dress, and looked at him with concern. "Mon ange, is something the matter?" As soon as she had spoken, she followed his eye line and saw why he was concerned. One of the pages had fallen underneath the piano.

He cleared his throat and set the rest of the pages on the piano.

"It is no matter. I shall retrieve it later-" As soon as the words had left his mouth, he saw Christine rise up off the bench, and bend down –with very little grace, he observed- and crawl forward under the piano. Her small hand grabbed the page, and he watched with amusement as she tried to scoot back out from underneath the large instrument.

He held his hand out to help her up.

"Voila, le page." Christine smiled and began smoothing out her the skirting of her dress.

He took the page from her and a chuckle escaped him.

"Miss Daae, that was most inelegant." She frowned, and immediately blushed before she realized he was teasing her. His familiar behavior was new to her, and not at all unwelcome. She smiled and gestured to the piano.

He sat upon the bench, straightened, and let his fingers glide over the keys in a glissando. She watched him with longing as his practiced hands danced along the ivory, partnering with the piano to create beautiful music.

She did not know how long she watched him play, but she lost herself in watching him, as he lost himself in the music. She was not aware that she had closed her eyes, but she opened them when the music stopped. He had the ghost of a smile on his face.

He resumed his role as her teacher, knowing that despite her misplaced desire for him, he would never be her lover.

"You shall warm up with a glissando on an 'ah'." He gestured to the crook of the piano, and she obediently took her place there. A thrill coursed through her veins as she began to sing alongside his instruction. It had been weeks since she had felt so free.

_Freedom._

She had desired freedom since she had met her angel face to face. She assumed she sought freedom from him, and the night, but she was realizing that the freedom she so desired was from her own fear. She no longer feared her desire of this man. She no longer feared Erik.

She was in the middle of another warm-up exercise when she came to this realization. She stopped singing and sat beside him. He looked at her questioningly.

"Christine?"

He held his arms still when her lips pressed against his. He had little faith in himself to control his actions should she continue. Her hands were seemingly everywhere. He felt her arms around his neck, as she deepened their kiss, then gripping at his shoulders, and then at his chest. His heart was racing when she pulled away.

"My angel, I have _longed_ for you."

Her fingertips grazed the edge of his mask, and he gently caught her hand and brought it to his lips before she could slip her fingers underneath it.

She released a sigh. "I know not how to convince you that I care for the _man_ beside me." Her eyes showed no pity, but betrayed a dejected sadness. "I care not for the angel, phantom, or masks."

"There was a time when I could deny you nothing but this. I cannot find the strength to deny you even this, which I have held onto so strongly." He closed his eyes and removed the mask. He waited for the inevitable: her cries of horror or her a gasps of disgust.

Silence.

He kept his eyes closed, but he felt her take his mask from him and heard her set it on the piano. Her fingertips were just barely tracing his marred flesh. He exhaled a shaky breath and she pulled her hand away, concerned.

"Did I—" she began to whisper, but he took her hand and pressed her palm against his twisted cheek. A sigh escaped him as he held her hand to his face.

"It is fitting," he whispered reverently, barely audible, "that an angel be the first to touch this monstrous face."

"Erik—"

She pressed her lips softly to his, wanting him to feel the tremendous caring that she felt for him, and desiring to ease his pain. He was frozen for an indeterminable amount of time before he responded to her mouth. When he did, his tear-filled eyes were closed, and he relished in the feel of kissing her without his mask. He had fantasized about the feeling of her lips on his own, but he never allowed himself to imagine how it would feel to kiss her without his mask.

He heard dissonant sounds coming from the piano behind them, and he did not care that the two of them were abusing his only instrument with their ardor.

"My love— " she chanted, and he moaned against her neck in reply, pressing kisses to her sensitive skin. A loud clashing of keys punctuated the sounds of their passionate kissing and heaving breaths, and his growled in displeasure. He stood, swiftly pulling her up from the bench. Her eyes seemed to sparkle as she looked up at him, despite his cursed face, and her expression warmed his heart. He was amazed at how perfectly his hands fit upon the small of her back.

He had told her, several times this evening in fact, that he had released her, but he knew now, upon looking at her face in this moment, that he could never let her go again. A nagging doubt remained in his mind, that perhaps she might change her mind and want to return to her world. When she did, he would surely die.

_Perhaps the world might grant this monster a few more moments of unadulterated happiness?_

His thoughts were quelled by her hands upon his chest. Her expression had changed again, and he could not place it, but he thought that it had reminded him of her determination to best a particularly different section of an aria. Her hands traveled in no particular pattern on his chest, and he watched them with keen interest. He was about to capture her lips in chaste kiss when he saw her delicate fingers unbutton the top bottom of his shirt.

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><p><strong>AN:** Whoa! Things are getting steamy. I would love to hear your thoughts. Or rather, read them.

A note on Christine's character… I appreciate that she is often a prisoner of her inexperience, naiveté, fear, and propriety. In this fic, she resents being mocked for her naiveté and inexperience by Erik, which I believe, leads her to desire to prove herself to him. Her anger during their confrontation outweighs her fear of him, and her passion will outweigh the need for propriety. I find a frightened, mouse-of-a woman much less interesting than a Christine who will occasionally stand up for herself. I certainly see Christine as the initial pursuer if she and Erik were to ever have a physical relationship, as Erik has had close to no physical contact in his life. My Erik will rely on instinct when it comes to any physical interaction.

Again, would love to read what you all think!

Daisy


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